


Carson House

by NotSteve



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: AU, F/M, Family, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28858818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSteve/pseuds/NotSteve
Summary: Though most likely not physically possible, it is fun to explore a "what if" scenario where Carson and Mrs. Hughes have a baby in actual cannon. This exists more so for practice writing than actual plot/storytelling, so I don't know what the future holds for this fic.
Relationships: Charles Carson/Elsie Hughes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Carson House

Carson House

* * *

His nose could smell her before his eyes opened to see her. He could feel her touch before he could see it, her thumb gently stroking the rough stubble on his face—that the boss would surely be none too pleased about—and moving up to touch his nose, and then his cheek, and then brushing his untidy—no doubt—hair away from his forehead. He was past due for a haircut but Elsie told him she liked the length, and it was really only bothersome after a bath and in the mornings. The sunlight disturbed his rest, for he was now half awake, and he moved closer to her warmth, away from the beams of light creeping into his eyelids. Her soft hand settled on his bare chest, her lips kissed his stubble. The Summer season had Carson wearing only his pants to bed; Elsie, far braver than him in many ways, often forgone her nighttime clothing altogether on nights such as the one Carson House had last night. He opened his eyes and an angel, disguised as his wife, appeared before him, illuminated by the bright rays of light entering through the window; Elsie, his love. His arm reached around her waist to pull her close, his lips brushing against her own.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson," Elsie greeted him, her voice low and filled with sleep. She lifted her head to peer at the clock on his bedside table. "I do believe the boss has allowed us to sleep in a little."

There was shuffling outside their door. He smiled to himself as his other arm positioned itself behind her and she rested her head on his shoulder. "Emphasis on little."

They waited, watching the door intently—the knob jiggled slightly, then stopped. But it did not open. The door had no lock to it, despite Carson's insistence that it should. "Mumbuh," came the call. And Elsie feigned sleepiness, her eyes closed tight and her head tucked away into the crevice of her husband's armpit, as the door gently opened. He entered the room with the confidence of a King with his hands obediently behind his back. Halfway to their bed, he quickly became distracted and his attention turned to the window. "Mumbuh," he mumbled again—it was what he called Elsie, as well as anything he had yet to give a name for. He pointed out the window, into the garden where he and Carson spent many hours planting seeds and tending to growing vegetables—something that aided his hands and their shakiness.

Elsie lifted her head, her eyes opening slightly. "Baby," she said gently, and the bossman turned back to them.

"Sharwee and Baby?" he said in a questioning tone, still pointing—Sharwee was his name for Carson, or, more specifically, Charlie. The many times they spent practicing the word "dada" in front of him proved to be useless after a silly slip up from Elsie one morning over breakfast. He was outside in the garden when it happened; she called him inside, and bossman mimicked her.

"No, dada's got to go to the big house," said Carson as Baby climbed up on his side of the bed. "We won't have time to garden today."

Carson pulled Baby close so he was atop his bare chest, old skin touching new. The grim days seemed behind them now, thankfully, but those dark thoughts still lingered in the back of his mind; he promised Elsie he would not dwell on such things: the shocking and very unexpected miracle pregnancy, the scandal it brought onto Downton and many, many towns over. Dr. Clarkson warned there was low chance of him surviving—and Elsie might not live through it either. And then he did—born months before he was due—and every damn day afterwards seemed a struggle. Dr. Clarkson also said he would likely never learn to properly talk or walk, or do most things little boys do, and yet here he was, doing all that: a bit slower than most boys his age, mind, but he was still doing it, at his own pace. Carson retired to tend to Elsie, and they moved into their own home shortly after Baby's half year mark came around, away from the whispers fluttering around them and the big house, and they set up shop soon after. Their duties here were similar to what they both did at Downton, but not as grand or fanciful as before, and it was a little bit more quiet. Elsie and a girl from the village, Emily, tended to the rooms upstairs and the meals for guests; Charles, in return, tended to the financials and the upkeep of the house. And the boss spent his days moving between them.

It was quiet today—Monday. No one was in the house but them. A couple, newlyweds, were arriving late in the afternoon, and some businessmen and another couple were coming the day after. And the day after that, he had already forgotten but he knew it would be someone.

Elsie's hand moved to rest on his chest too, brushing against Baby's own hand—old touching new again. "Do you think the rumors are true?" she asked him.

"I don't know," he said honestly, "but if they are—it'd be a great honor, but the house certainly is in no condition for their arrival." Barrow was Butler now, still new to his role, and they hadn't yet found a replacement for Elsie, if they ever would—Miss Baxter and Mrs. Bates took over her housekeeping duties after she had gone, even though they both remained Lady Maids.

Baby touched his nose, tracing the bumps with his small index finger. Carson wiggled his nose and Baby let out a laugh.

"Well, I doubt we'll be much help to them," Elsie said. She pulled away the sheets and stood from the bed. Her hand lingered over the left hip that always seemed to trouble her every now and again; the difficult pregnancy only made it worse. Carson observed her carefully as she tottered her way towards her dressing gown, elegantly draped over the peach-colored armchair in the corner.

"Let Emily make the beds today," he said to her. Elsie smiled as Baby rolled off Carson to take her spot on the bed.

"I gave Emily the day off," said Elsie. "She's spending the day with her fiancé—Michael, I think she said his name was." She wrapped the gown around herself and took a quick glance at the mirror, pulling back her untidy braided hair.

"Fiancé? I didn't know he proposed," he said—his arm lifted, involuntarily, for Baby to wrap himself around. "It's a bit soon for them, don't you think?" Emily seemed just a girl to him—maybe eighteen or nineteen. He thought the same for her beau; he was still just a boy with innocence glimmering in his eyes.

"Well, they have been courting for almost a year now. Most men don't take nearly as long as you do, dada." He was too distracted by Baby to give a proper response, who was now journeying back up onto him using Carson's arm, small breaths and big laughs coming out of him as he climbed. "Oh, don't fret over me," Elsie continued gently. "I'll be fine. It helps if I walk on it a little." He could offer to make the beds for her while she rested with Baby in bed, but he wasn't very good at it, and Elsie would complain he was doing it wrong anyway.

They were old, beyond their prime; there was no questioning it now. He never really thought about age or death before their retirement, before the birth of their son. Age was just a number and death was inevitable, the last major event of one's own life—so why linger on things he had no control over? At times he felt he trapped Elsie into such a life, though he would never say such words aloud. After all, he was the one who said he wanted a _full marriage_. He promised not to linger, but his mind often wandered, as he was sure hers did too. Would he even live to see his son's eighth birthday? Dr. Clarkson offered schools and asylums for them to consider as the early days became clearer, less doubtful; he set aside some money, just in case, but Elsie was keen on keeping him near—mournful of the broken bond she shared with her sister, no doubt—as was Carson.

"I'll make some coffee," he responded, sitting up.

But bossman tightened his hold on him. "No, no, no," he commanded, shaking his little head and stretching the wrinkles on Carson's face.

Quickly, new cheek pressed against old, and Elsie let out a tired but happy sigh at the pair before her. He must of had a concerned look on him, for she assured him with her eyes that it was okay. "Don't worry. I can make the coffee," she said, making her way towards the door—the door leading into the hall, not to Baby's small nook. "Stay with Calum. I'll be back shortly."

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really explore it here as much as my other fic, but if Carson and Mrs. Hughes were to have a cannon child anytime during the show, the child would more than likely be disabled due to Elsie's age, so I try to include that in my fics.
> 
> Let me also take this time to say you are really awesome and I appreciate you taking the time to read my fics. Your support really means a lot :)


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